


Tanda and the Stray Dog

by EvilReceptionistOfDoom



Series: Hunters [6]
Category: Seirei no Moribito | Guardian of the Sacred Spirit
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Charity case, Developing Friendships, Dr. Tanda, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Healers, Inspirational Speeches, Introspection, Medical Procedures, Messengers, Mild Gore, Pining, Post-Series, Pseudo-Family, Redemption, Slice of Life, Snowed In, Soup, Surgery, Unrequited Love, Woobie, emergencies, heartfelt discussion, house-husband, originally a one-shot but now I can't stop D:, sentimental assassin, unlikely friends, what characters do in their spare time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8788525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilReceptionistOfDoom/pseuds/EvilReceptionistOfDoom
Summary: Tanda's always been a sucker for lost souls.
  Takes place about six months after the end of the anime.





	1. A Letter for Tanda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanda is having trouble coming to terms with Balsa's leaving for Kanbal and Chagum's return to the palace. His hut is lonely and empty without them - but luckily, today he has a visitor.

Tanda woke that morning feeling very alone.  It was autumn, and the leaves of the trees around his little hollow were just beginning to turn.  It had been a hot summer; the heat didn't seem ready to let go, and up until today the weather had remained stubbornly warm.  But during the night it got chilly, and Tanda awoke shivering and...alone.  The hut just seemed so empty anymore.  It was odd: for two years he'd been so used to solitude, and even before then, Balsa had never stayed more than a few weeks at a time.  But after sharing his home with her, and with Chagum, for so long, he had gotten used to having her beside him... to having her...-  
    He shook himself and rose, feeling angry with himself for allowing his memories of the hunting cave to permeate the present.  The summer had been difficult enough to bear; he did not want to think what the winter would be like.  He splashed water on his face, rekindled the fire, and went outside to gather a few vegetables from his garden.  A couple of carrots, an onion and bamboo shoots - he chopped them mechanically, his thoughts returning incessantly to the past several months... the months since Balsa left.  Juxtaposed in his memory were Chagum's tearful farewell to them both and Balsa's lack of anything like it - her silhouette fading down the path after they left the palace, with nothing but a "Well, I'm off to Kanbal.  I'll return once I've settled some things there."  How he wanted to scream at her sometimes!  How he wished he could curse her name and never, ever think of her again.    
    And Chagum!  The prince had, for a whole year, been like a child to them.  But the last time Tanda saw him was when the funeral procession for Prince Sagum had passed, and Tanda dared to lift his eyes while he knelt prostrate, and he glimpsed Chagum inside one of several immense palanquins that followed the body of the First Prince.  That was it.  And he knew that really would be it: the royal family never left the palace, and commoners never entered.  
    Angrily Tanda stirred the stewpot, only to smell what he was cooking and realise he had automatically made the vegetable soup that was Balsa's favorite.  His heart stung as he thought of her sleeping beside him in the hunting cave, her warm body curled around his, her breath soft on his neck.  And then she had left, just like that, as if there were nothing between them.  He could not hate her; but he hated himself for needing her so badly.  
    He had to get his mind off of this, he thought, feeling desperate and miserable.  The whole summer had been like this: a constant struggle to keep the past at bay, to hold back his grief over a future he had thought certain and had lost, like so many times before.  With a heavy sigh, he stood and climbed the ladder to the loft, where he gathered a few bundles of dried herbs from the rafters.  He was descending the ladder when the sound of hoofbeats reached his ears.  At once the man hurried to the door; if someone was riding that hard to his hut, there must be a medical emergency.  He didn't admit to himself how glad he was of the distraction.  
    Once outside, however, Tanda slowed and finally stopped.  As he watched, a sleek brown horse thundered up the road, drew up sharply and came to a halt just a few feet away.  The rider dismounted in one fluid motion, caught the horse by the reins, and walked the last few steps to where Tanda stood.  Then, without a word, the man went down on one knee and bowed.  "I bring a letter for you from the palace," the man said.  
    Tanda frowned, trying to place the visitor.  Then his face lightened.  "Oh!" he said.  "I remember!  Jin, right?"  
    This seemed to startle the messenger, whom Tanda now recognized as one of the Imperial Hunters; the herbalist hadn't seen any of them out of uniform, so the man's casual attire had thrown him off.  The Hunter straightened, surprised and a little awkward, and held out a cloth bundle.  "Master Shuga sends his regards... as does Crown Prince Chagum."  
    "Chagum?"  Tanda started, feeling the gloom suddenly lift from his mind.  "Is he well?  No, no, first come inside - let your horse graze a bit.  I want to know everything.  I've just made breakfast.  Come inside, for goodness' sake," he said, seeing confusion in the other's expression.  "You're a welcome visitor.  It's my honor to show you some hospitality."  
    Jin tied the horse's reins back so the animal wouldn't get its foot caught while it browsed and followed Tanda into the hut, looking so wary that Tanda almost wanted to laugh.  "It's not an ambush," he said.  This made the other man redden slightly, embarrassed, and Tanda smiled and ladled a bowl of soup for him.  "Here," he said, holding it out.  "I insist."  
    The hunter took the bowl gingerly, as if expecting poison, and glanced around the hut's interior with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.  Tanda felt something similar towards his guest, though he had interacted with this man a little on the road back from Sahnan and found him reticent and a bit sad but friendly enough.  He noticed the other ate with the polished manners of an aristocrat, not the carelessness of a soldier or a thug.  Tanda got himself a bowl of soup and drank about half of it before he couldn't hold himself back any longer.  "So, how is the prince?" he asked, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice.    
    "I brought two letters; one is from him."  
    "Yes, but how is he?  The letter can't tell me everything."  
    Jin set the soup down and considered this.  "His highness is well," he said slowly, "but I believe he misses you and the spearwielder greatly."  
    "How do you mean?  He's- he's happy, isn't he?"  
    The hunter frowned, thoughtful.  "I don't believe 'happy' is a word I would use.  His highness is... melancholy.  The prince seems out-of-sorts and speaks of the past winter often.  I do not believe his highness is adjusting well to palace life, after knowing the freedom of being a commoner."  
    Tanda sat back, astounded at such a frank answer from one of the Mikado's men.  "I see," he said, feeling his heart go out to the boy, far away as Chagum was.  _I feel the same as you_ , he thought.  _Oh, Chagum, if only we could return to the hunting cave and live there together, with Balsa, forever.  If only we could be a normal family_.  "Is there nothing I can do for him?"  
    "I am afraid the most I can offer is to pass along whatever message you may have for his highness.  The Mikado wishes Prince Chagum to have no further interaction with commoners, least of all Balsa-san and yourself.  He will not allow the prince to mention anything of his time outside the palace.  It is... a point of contention."  
    Tanda sighed.  "I suppose I expected as much."  
    Jin said nothing.  He waited silently, and Tanda realised that court practices for guests - or anyone, really - must be very different from outside Upper Ougi.  Only when Tanda made to finish his own soup did the young man do the same, and he did not ask for more or say anything at all until Tanda spoke again.  
    "What do you think?" he said.  
    "What do I think?"  Confusion.  
    "The soup," said Tanda, nodding at the empty bowl.  "It's my favorite recipe.  It's Balsa's favorite as well."  
    "Oh!  I'm sorry, I misunderstood.  It's very good.  Thank you for sharing."  
    "You can have more if you like.  I... I made more than I need," Tanda said, feeling a pang; he had automatically cooked enough for three.  
    The hunter bowed slightly.  "Thank you.  I will have more, if it's not an inconvenience to you."  At last his expression changed; he gave a bashful sort of half-smile and confessed, "I actually haven't eaten since the day before yesterday, and I promise this is much better than anything I've had in the past month.  I know the prince misses your cooking as well.  I've heard his highness mention it to Master Shuga."  
    "Ah, that's right, the star reader sent a letter also!"  Tanda reached for the package he'd taken from his guest, and he unfolded the cloth to find a pair of letters sealed with wax.  Chagum's was so lengthy that the wax was cracking from the strain of so many pages rolled together; when he broke the seal and glanced through the sheave of papers, Tanda realised the boy had been writing to him and Balsa nearly every day since they bid him goodbye.  The herbalist felt his throat constrict.  He stared at the pages for a long time, battling emotion.  He did not want to shed tears before this warrior.  He did not want to shed tears at all.  Quickly he turned to the other letter, the one from Shuga.  He recalled his first meeting with the star reader, on the banks of the Aoyumi River, and wondered what the letter would say.  Probably some sort of cultural question.  
    As he read, Tanda forgot about his guest.  The hunter was uncannily unobtrusive.  Shuga had written asking, as Tanda had guessed, about Yaku herbology - the one thing Shaman Torogai, with whom Shuga corresponded regularly, was not as expert at as Tanda, her student.  Tanda went upstairs to gather a few herb samples to send to the star reader.  He got caught up and by the time he came back down, it had been almost an hour.  But Jin was still sitting near the door, studying his surroundings while he waited.  "I'm so sorry," Tanda said, "I forgot you were here!"  
    The hunter gave a small smile.  "It's no problem.  That happens a lot."  
    Suddenly Tanda noticed something he had missed before.  A reddish-black spot had appeared on the sleeve of the man's drab blue yukata; it certainly wasn't spilt soup.  "Can I see?" Tanda asked, holding out a hand.  
    The young man responded with confusion until he, too, noticed the spot.  "Oh, damn, I thought I'd fixed that."  Reluctantly he held his arm out to Tanda, who rolled the sleeve up to reveal a bandage with a much larger bloodstain.  Tanda did not ask for permission; he removed the bandage without hesitation and raised his eyebrows.  "Did you stitch this up yourself?"  
    Jin frowned.  "I did."  
    "Are you left-handed?"  
    "No...'  
    "Well, that's your problem.  You should have had someone else do it.  These stitches are uneven and not consistently tight.  It's no wonder the cut's opened up again."  
    "There wasn't exactly a doctor available.  I did the best I could."  Jin sounded a bit resentful.  Tanda sighed.  
    "I'm not going to ask how you got this," he said, "but I will ask how long ago."  
    "Two days or so."  
    "Hmm."  Tanda turned his visitor's arm this way and that, examining the wound and its amateur repair job.  "I'll fix this up quickly," he said at last.  "It's not too bad, fairly routine for me."  As he rose to fetch the correct tools, the herbalist had to resist, yet again, thinking of Balsa - of how simple something like this was for him to heal because of how many similar injuries Balsa had come to him with.  Balsa, his medical classroom.  Balsa, whose body he knew inside and out.  Balsa, who would have finished that entire pot of soup with gusto and told him how good it was and...  
    Tanda winced and tried to focus on the task at hand.  He cut the shoddy stitches and pulled out the thread, then cleaned the cut with disinfectant.  He was surprised: the disinfectant must burn horribly, and the cut was deep, too; but the hunter did not so much as flinch.  Only one other patient Tanda had treated had been so unphased by pain.  Again Tanda sighed, heavily, wondering if there were anything on the face of the planet that _didn't_ remind him of Balsa in one way or another.  
    "Do you treat all guests this attentively?"  
    Tanda started from his daydreams.  "If someone arrives here needing medical attention, I help them," he said dismissively.  
    "Still.  You certainly didn't have to share your breakfast.  You didn't even need to invite me in.  Surely it was not all to get a little extra news of the Crown Prince."  
    "No.  It's just the Yaku way.  And... your timing was fortuitous."  
    To Tanda's surprise, the hunter nodded knowingly.  "You must get very lonely here, so far from town.  Especially without them."  
    "I suppose I'm quite transparent," Tanda said with a sad laugh.  
    "Not at all.  I'm just trained to notice things.  We were all surprised when the spearwielder went to Kanbal.  She obviously has feelings for you; that she would leave instead of acting upon those feelings struck us as uncharacteristically cowardly.  Running from love, as it were."  
    "Oh, goodness," Tanda said, pulling the first stitch tight.  He knew he was blushing.  "You've been gossiping about us at court?"  
    "Ah, pardon me, not the whole court.  By 'we' I mean the Hunters, nothing more.  But yes, we've been gossiping about you and Balsa since the prince returned.  Quite a lot, actually."  He smiled.  "It's been a slow summer."  
    Tanda felt his face growing hotter.  "I don't suppose you know what she's been doing there."  
    "No, I'm sad to say.  We only do domestic intelligence.  The Mikado has a different set of spies for other countries."  
    Tanda contnued to sew, his stitches small and neat.  "I just don't know what I did to make her leave," he said after a moment, feeling suddenly so desperate to talk that he didn't care to whom he was talking.  "I'm a good caretaker, a good provider.  I've always been.  I'm a decent enough lover that she's never complained.  She just witnessed how good a father I would be.  I'm faithful and thoughtful and loving.  What more does she want from me?"  
    Jin seemed to deliberate, as if deciding whether Tanda meant the question as rhetorical or not.  But when Tanda said nothing more, the younger man spoke.  "It might not be about you.  Balsa is a warrior - perhaps the greatest warrior alive.  She has never met an opponent she couldn't best.  Perhaps the idea of being cared for by you - settling down, giving up a warrior's life - feels like a defeat for her, like surrender.  If she admits she needs you, well, that could be equated with weakness.  Especially because she's a woman.  Our leader, Mon, has called off many an engagement because he felt he was becoming dependent on the woman he was to marry, and he's forty-five and still a bachelor.  Balsa is even more of a warrior than him."  
    "But Balsa and I have known each other since we were children," Tanda protested.  "It's not like an arranged marriage or some sort of court alliance."  
    The young man nodded.  "I do not presume to know the spearwielder's heart, or even anything about love.  I only know the difficulty of transitioning from the brutality and precariousness of a warrior's way to the mundanity and monotony of civilian life.  In my own experience, peace and security can be jarring."  He shrugged one shoulder, not wanting to move his arm while Tanda worked, looking at the needle as the herbalist pulled the last stitch through and knotted the thread.  "I do hope that she comes back to you, though.  You make a good match."  
    "Are you married?" Tanda asked.  
    "No."  Did he detect a note of sadness in Jin's voice?  Tanda though of the Hunters' leader, the man with the scar under one eye and the serious manner.  Mon had a permanent sorrow couched in his expression - not blatant, just something in his eyes.  Tanda had glimpsed that same sadness in Balsa's eyes.  When they had been at the cave that winter, and she had tried to explain why she couldn't settle down, how she was like a fighting cock that knew its purpose in life only when it was battling another...  
    "All done," said Tanda abruptly, rising.  Jin thanked him with a small bow, and Tanda went and washed his hands, trying once again to shake away his thoughts.  Balsa was not like these men, he told himself.  Balsa was not a killer, not anymore.  Balsa might struggle with... with some similar issues, but she wouldn't keep pushing Tanda away for another fifteen years!  No, she would come back from Kanbal - _soon_ , Tanda thought - and then, at last, she would stay with him and never leave again.  She would be by his side once more.  She would stop fighting... or at least stop fighting _him_.  They would be happy.  
    "Tanda-san, I can take messages back to Master Shuga and Crown Prince Chagum now, if you wish, or if you prefer I can return after you've had more time to craft your replies.  I don't know how long it will be before I can get away from palace affairs, but not more than a few weeks."  
    The herbalist turned to his guest, glad to be pulled from his contemplations.  "I'll write them now, if you don't mind waiting.  Though there's not much to do here, I'm afraid, and it may take some time to write my replies.  And...  I wonder, do you think you could take a short message now and come back in a bit for a longer one?  I'll have more for Chagum after I've had a chance to read his letter in full."  
    "Of course.  I'm sure that the prince will be happy to hear from you as much as possible.  His highness could use something to lift his heart.  I'll take as many letters to him as you can write."  
    "Thank you.  Uh... make yourself at home, I guess."  Tanda frowned a moment, feeling like a bad host, but the hunter seemed unconcerned by the prospect of waiting, so Tanda brushed away his guilt and hurried to craft a response for Shuga, and a short, heartfelt note for Chagum, promising more soon.  He folded up the herbs he had collected into a paper packet and wrapped them in the cloth with the letters.  "This one is for Shuga as well," Tanda explained as he closed up the parcel.  "You can tell him the explanations are in my letter."  
    The hunter bowed low.  "Thank you for your kind hospitality, for the soup and the medical treatment.  You... don't know how much it means.  And his highness will be overjoyed to hear from you.  I'll return by the end of the month to collect your next message.  Thank you, Tanda-san."    
    The herbalist rubbed his neck, embarrassed at the other's formality.  "It's no trouble," he said awkwardly.    
    As the horse and rider disappeared down the forest lane, Tanda sagged.  Alone, once again.  But this time, at least, he had a book's worth of news from Chagum.  It might be pale comfort... but it was a comfort nonetheless.


	2. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E.R.: Tanda Edition

As fall wore on, the leaves grew bright and then fell from the trees, while Tanda maintained an enthusiastic correspondence with both Shuga and Chagum.  Jin returned to his hut a little over two weeks after the first message arrived from Chagum, and after that he showed up every other week with the boy's eager letters.  The prince had been beside himself with joy when Tanda's first message arrived, and the more Tanda wrote, the more Chagum begged him to write.  Tanda cherished the boy's letters, but he also got a picture from what Chagum wrote of the palace that almost broke his heart.  Chagum was like a prisoner in his own home.  The Mikado would not tolerate any mention of the past year, and Chagum's behavior was closely monitored and often corrected.  The boy's time was regimented and filled with things he considered frivolous and boring at once: ceremony-ridden meals that lasted hours on end; meetings with diplomats and ministers that consisted more of ego-inflation than actual policymaking; lessons in minutiae such as the proper language to use in royal correspondence rather than in useful things like the economics behind the taxes he would one day be in charge of; and so on.  Despite the prince tried to put a positive spin on things, Tanda could tell he was miserable.  Both Shuga and Jin were aware of Chagum's misery, as well, and the two men were clearly doing everything within their power to help.  Shuga, in his own letters, mentioned how precious the time he spent tutoring the prince was, and how he regretted he could no longer devote all his time to Chagum's education, since the Master Star Reader was giving him myriad other responsibilities on top of tutoring.  It seemed that was the price of having helped save New Yogo, and Shuga wished he could foist the credit onto another and return to being Chagum's tutor-governor full-time.  Tanda found his correspondence with Shuga became, increasingly, less about Yaku herbology and more about Chagum's personal wellbeing.  Tanda wished desperately that there were more he could do.    
    Tanda himself muddled through each day in much the same fashion, struggling against the absence of his pseudo-family.  The letters from Chagum made the loneliness easier to bear.  In the mean time, Tanda kept busy.  He made frequent house-calls in the surrounding villages and in Kousenkyo.  He re-thatched the roof of the hut, went gathering herbs, visited Toya and Saya.  He did his best to keep the days filled, and he looked forward to any visitors.  He took to preparing food when he knew his hunter postman was due, because then he could offer something to the guest and keep him around the hut longer.  It was not just an excuse for conversation - it was a chance to get news about the prince from someone who wasn't afraid to speak openly about Chagum's situation.  Jin answered Tanda's questions about the prince diplomatically, but he did not try to paint things in a positive or rosy light the way the boy and Shuga did.  He was forthright about the Mikado's resentment of the boy's popularity and rejection of the boy's mother following her disobedience in hiring Balsa; about how much Chagum missed his adoptive parents of the previous year; about the prince's longing for self-determination and for the simple pleasures that a commoner might take for granted, like a stroll through the marketplace or a trip into the forest to hunt rabbits or herbs.  Court life sounded, frankly, like Tanda's idea of hell, and he appreciated that the hunter didn't try to make it seem any better than it actually was.  Jin also managed to get everything Tanda sent into Chagum's hands without it being intercepted by the servants or confiscated, and from what Shuga had implied, this was no small feat.  
    In truth, Tanda found the hunter intriguing in his own right.  Despite he was nine years Tanda's junior, Jin seemed much older, like a world-weary veteran, subdued and fatalistic.  Only when he smiled - which was rare indeed - did he look his age.  He never asked for anything and always thanked the herbalist formally for even the smallest gesture of hospitality, such that Tanda began to wonder if it were courtly manners after all, or if such behaviour were particular to this man.  Tanda thought about it long and hard before he realised what the hunter reminded him of.  Jin was like a stray dog, always on its guard, always expecting to be kicked or yelled at; such a dog would react to kindness with suspicion, and when given a scrap of meat would scarf it down immediately lest someone take it away.  That was the impression the herbalist got, at least: that the young hunter was so unused to kindness that he had no idea how to respond and did not quite believe it genuine.  Yet at the same time he was always pleasant, if a bit awkward, and he seemed to like Tanda's company.  Again, Tanda had the impression of a street dog that returned again and again to a friendly doorstep.    
    So the year wore on.  When winter came, Tanda's struggle against his loneliness peaked, for the winter at the hunting cave had been possibly the happiest episode of his twenty-nine years, and he had a hard time accepting that it would never be repeated.  But he managed; he always had.  
  
It was late January, cold and stormy.  Snow made little eddies in the air as Tanda gathered wood, billowing off the trees, the flakes swirling and gusting about like a living swarm.  Tanda's face prickled with cold as he returned to the hut.  It was going to be a bad one, he thought - probably enough to shut down the city for a day or two.  He'd have to make sure he had enough wood to last if he got snowed in.  He tried not to draw any parallels to the hunting cave; the whole winter had been a battle against his memories, and only his work and the letters to and from Chagum had made the loneliness bearable.  
    Tanda had just settled down to fix himself some dinner when, to his startlement, there came a knock on his door.  Hastily he stood and went to let the person in, imagining some sort of emergency, or perhaps a stranded traveller.  Either way, it would mean a welcome distraction.  
    It was Jin.  Tanda stared a moment, shocked speechless.    
    "I'm sorry to bother you at this hour," the hunter said, "but your hut was closer and I wasn't sure I could make it to the palace."  
    "Come in," said Tanda hastily, remembering himself.  "It's no trouble, I'm glad for the company.  What brings you to the area?"  He ushered the other in, frowning slightly, for he could sense something was off.  Once the door was shut and latched, he walked over to where his guest sat on the edge of the hut's raised floor.  The younger man's face was pale despite the cold and his head bowed.  "Are you feeling all right?"  
    Jin shook his head no.  Rather than answer, he struggled out of the heavy wool cloak he wore, and Tanda saw he was in uniform, a sinister effect compared to the civilian clothes he wore when he delivered Tanda's letters from the palace.  Tanda also saw a strip of cloth with a small stick twisted through it: a tourniquet, wrapped around Jin's upper left arm; the sleeve was drenched in blood.  "It's an artery," he said softly.  "Can you fix it?"  When Tanda didn't respond immediately, Jin added, "I'll pay you, of course.  I would have gone to the palace, to our normal doctor, but I haven't got a horse and it's a long ways.  You were closer.  I wasn't sure I could make it, otherwise."  
    Tanda frowned.  He could see the other's eyes drooping, and repeating things was a sign the hunter wasn't thinking straight, which meant hypothermia or serious bloodloss, maybe both in this case.  "Lie down," he said.  "I'll see what I can do.  How long ago did this happen?"  
    "Less than an hour."  
    "It's good you came straight here.  Is this a knife wound?"  
    "Sword."  
    "Any others?"  
    "I don't think so.  Just... the one guy..."  
    Tanda brought a lamp over.  He had already taken off the leather bracer the hunter wore, with its banks of blowdarts, and cut the underlying sleeve off below the tourniquet.  Now he rinsed off the blood to get a good look at the injury.  The tourniquet was not tight enough to completely stop the bleeding, and with every beat of the hunter's heart, blood oozed from the laceration.  Tanda twisted the stick to cut off bloodflow long enough for him to see what he was dealing with.  The cut was very deep, just above the inner elbow and about the full width of the arm.  Tanda was relieved, however, for when he rinsed the congealed blood from the wound and pulled back its edges, he could see the artery had not been severed completely.  A small bridge of tissue still remained, keeping the blood vessel from retracting back into the surrounding muscle.  If he worked quickly, the herbalist knew he could repair the artery and save the arm without major lasting effects.  He knew because he had done it for Balsa, for multiple arteries and at multiple times, and later for an injured farmer cut with a scythe, and then for a little girl bit by a dog.  Balsa's teaching had helped him save many lives and livelihoods over the years.    
    At once Tanda's mind went into surgical mode.  He worked quickly, focused entirely on the task at hand.  Closing up the artery was his primary concern; he sewed swiftly but precisely, for his repair must hold even after bloodflow was restored.  Everything else faded from his awareness, and time seemed to slow down for him.  This was Tanda's element.  When he was treating a patient, he thought of nothing but the treatment, and the gloom and loneliness left him, his heart grew light, his mind clear.  Each tiny stitch with the tiny needle brought the patient back to wholeness and brought Tanda further from the petty concerns of everyday life.  He loosened the tourniquet when the artery was almost repaired to check for any missed spots, tightened it again, washed away the blood, closed off the last small hole, tested the sutures a third time, and finally released the tourniquet altogether.  The repair held.  Nothing else major seemed to have been damaged, so Tanda debrided and disinfected the main wound and carefully closed that up, too.  He made an herbal conconction to paint on the laceration that would prevent infection, and lastly bandaged it all up with cloth.  Then he sat back on his knees, releasing his breath slowly.  Color had returned to Jin's hand, which was heartening; but the hunter himself wasn't conscious.  Outside it had grown dark and Tanda hadn't even noticed.  He remembered so many occasions when an emergency had arisen and he'd lost track of time so completely that he'd worked until past daybreak without pause, and then was surprised to hear hours or even a full day had passed.  Probably half of those emergencies had been Balsa's.  Everything led back to Balsa.    
    The herbalist sighed heavily.  He found a couple of unused blankets and tried to make his patient comfortable for the night.  He stoked the fire up, knowing the night would only get colder.  Then he himself went to bed, hoping that when he woke he would be in a better state of mind... one where not everything was about Balsa.  As if such a thing were even possible.


	3. Frank Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending the whole winter trying to distract himself from his loneliness, Tanda is determined to make the most of Jin's company. Jin would really rather not. 
> 
> (Get your mind out of the gutter! Tanda just wants to talk! Gosh!)

When Tanda woke, it was to discover that the snow had, indeed, been heavy enough to block the door.  He and Jin were stuck until the snow stopped and the temperature warmed a little.  Usually these cold snaps only lasted a few days at most, here in the lowlands, so Tanda wasn't worried.  There was plenty of water, food, and firewood, and he had all the medical supplies he needed.  He made soup that was really just broth, boiled a little rice for himself, and finally turned his attention to the sleeping hunter.  He reached very gently for the other's injured arm, wishing to make sure his sutures had held through the night.  The instant he touched the other man, however, Jin was awake.  Tanda wondered if he had been sleeping at all.  
    "Good morning," said Tanda.  "I didn't mean to startle you."  
    The other sat up and looked around, clearly still a little fuzzy.  "What am I doing here?" he said at last.  
    Tanda told him.  As he explained, Jin nodded slowly, the memory returning to him.  Tanda fetched a bowl of soup.  As he crouched by the hunter's side and handed him the bowl, he asked, "How are you feeling?"  
    "Like I lost a lot of blood.  Thank you," Jin added, bowing his head politely as he took the soup with his right hand.  He drank it silently, eyes downcast.  Tanda wondered, not for the first time, if palace meals were all eaten in silence, and how dreary that must be.  
    "Finish that and I'll give you more," sad Tanda.  "The best way to replace the blood you lost is to drink fortified broth - a lot of it.  Let me see your left arm, please."  While Tanda checked for pooled blood and examined the circulation and responsiveness of the hunter's hand, he said slowly, "May I ask how this happened?"  
    "You may ask..."  Tanda realised this was meant to be a joke, but the other was so humorless in all things that the attempt fell flat.  The herbalist gave his patient a long look, and Jin looked away and said, "I'm sorry, I can't tell you anything.  I'm sorry to have involved you in this at all.  I'm afraid I wasn't thinking clearly last night."    
    "I think that you were.  I don't know how far away you came from, but if you hadn't come here when you did, it's likely you would have lost your arm.  Because I was able to treat the wound so quickly, I think you should be fully recovered within the month.  Barring complications, you shouldn't have any lost functionality."  
    "I cannot express my gratitude enough," said Jin, and Tanda was briefly reminded of Chagum: the same courtly manners, the same exceptional formality, that the boy had shown when he first arrived, and had never completely lost.  "Your skill is truly unparalleled.  I will pay you generously for your help as soon as I return to the palace."  
    Tanda rubbed his neck, feeling embarrassed and bothered.  "I didn't do it for money," he said.    
    "Nonetheless, I owe you my life - or at least my limb.  It's the least I can do."  
    Tanda frowned, thoughtful.  Perhaps this was a good segue into another topic.  "You're from a wealthy family, aren't you?" he said.  
    "Yes."  
    "Are you the oldest son?  Do you inherit when your father dies?"  
    To his surprise, Jin's whole body seemed to sag at this question.  "Forgive me, Tanda-san - I'm the only person in my family who still lives."  
    "I'm sorry, I didn't realise-"  
    "It's fine, you couldn't know.  So yes, all of the family's property and wealth belongs to me.  Is there something particular that you would like?  I'll do whatever I can to provide it."  
    "Ah, you misunderstand me," Tanda said with an awkward laugh.  "I'm not asking because I want some material reward.  I just... don't know much about you, and I was curious.  I'm sorry."  
    "Still, I would like to repay you," said Jin, avoiding Tanda's gaze; the herbalist got the impression he was trying to change the subject and doing a poor job of it.  Tanda's inquiry had upset him; it was odd to see the hunter so discomposed.  "Perhaps-"  
    "Really," Tanda interrupted, "I don't need a reward.  It's enough that I was able to help."  He refilled the soup bowl.  "Here, I insist you finish the whole pot.  Doctor's orders."  
    The hunter nodded and took the broth as commanded, but he said nothing, and he remained silent as the minutes wore on.  Tanda didn't quite know what to do.  He stood and began halfheartedly tidying up the hut, but there really wasn't much to do.  He went into the loft to look for some herbs to grind, but he had not only ground down all the herbs in the attic, but sorted and labelled the jars and bags and baskets where he kept his medicines.  The loft had never looked this pristine.  Tanda's quest to keep Chagum, Balsa, and the hunting cave out of his thoughts had ensured that there wasn't a single thing left to do here.  
    At a loss, Tanda returned to the ground floor.  He had intended to at least fold the blankets - as slowly as possible - and set them aside, but was frustrated to find that Jin had already done this.  "You shouldn't use that arm for a few days," the herbalist chided, chagrined.  The downstairs was as spotless and perfectly-organized as the upstairs, and he was annoyed.  Then again, it wasn't fair he should be looking for something to do in order to avoid a person rather than a memory.  This person should be helping distract him from the memories, not adding to the problem.  Besides, he was never going to get a chance like this again.  
    Resolved, Tanda deliberately placed himself right next to the hunter.  "Would you like to know how you can repay me?" he said.  
    "Yes," said Jin, though he was frowning.  
    "You can have a real conversation with me."  
    The frown deepened.  "We've had many conversations over the past few months."  
    "Yes, and now you know all about me, and all about Balsa, too.  I'm the kind of person who likes to talk, you're a good listener, it worked out.  But right now we're stuck inside this hut til the snow thaws, and it's your turn to do the talking.  All I know about you could be summarized in a single sentence.  That's just not very fair, in my opinion."  
    "Tanda-san... you must understand that I'm not allowed to speak openly about myself.  That's why I can't tell you my real name, or how I got that sword wound, or where I was yesterday before coming here.  Anything identifiable and anything that could connect back to my work as a hunter is totally off-limits.  I'm sorry, but I can't humor your request."  
    "Of course you can," Tanda pressed.  "There's more to a person than their identifying characteristics and their job.  What about your hobbies, your fears, your hopes and dreams, and so on?"  
    The hunter hunched slightly and scowled at the ground.  "I haven't got any," he muttered.  
    "Any what?"  
    "Any of the things you mentioned - no fears, no hobbies, no aspirations.  I have nothing to tell you.  I'm sorry."  
    It was Tanda's turn to frown.  "I don't believe that for a second," he shot back.  "For example, I know you fear that Chagum will never be happy again."  
    "You're right, yes.  His highness seems to grow more depressed by the day and it burns that I can't do a thing to help.  I dream of finding a way to alleviate the prince's misery.  I hope he can have a happier life than Sagum-sama had, may he rest in peace.  I fear that's impossible, however.  So there you go, the answer to your question."  
    "But what do you do on your free time?"  
    "I have no free time.  I am either working or training.  I use my free time to sleep."  
    Tanda was getting irritated.  "You sound awfully defensive," he snapped.  
    "You sound awfully nosy."    
    "I think I can be forgiven for wanting to know more about you," the herbalist retorted, frustrated that his attempt at companionship was being rebuffed so forcefully.  
    But he must have struck a nerve, for the hunter's eyes grew cold and his jaw tightened.  "Tanda-san, you want to know about me?" he said, his voice quiet but harsh, taut as a bowstring.  "You want to know how many men I've killed?  Well, I can't tell you, because I don't know myself.  I once killed more than thirty people in one night, so it's at least more than that.  I killed my first man when I was thirteen.  I've killed women, old people, unarmed civilians with no involvement in court affairs.  I haven't done much torture because I'm not very good at it, but I've maimed people, burned their houses, threatened their families.  Extortion, blackmail, every kind of theft, I've done it.  We don't rape anyone, but I'm sure that's only because our leader right now is a man of integrity, and it's definitely been done in the past.  Never fear, though - I've committed plenty of other atrocities.  I once had to dispose of a body by chopping it into pieces, like a butcher, and burning it, and I'll tell you, it smelled just like roasting pork, and when I realised the smell was making me hungry, I got so sick I threw up and couldn't eat meat for over six months afterward.  And I'm evidently quite the gifted arsonist; last year I set a fire that burned so hot and so fast that a family of squatters were trapped in the building's cellar and burned to death - a single mother with five kids, one an infant.  Mon called it collateral damage, an 'unfortunate accident'.  Then again, most of those I've murdered have themselves been innocent of any major crime.  Instead, it's been people the Mikado considers threats to the empire, or to his own supremacy.  My single aspiration is that when I die, it's protecting Prince Chagum, because then at least I'll die for a good cause and not for the Mikado's greed.  The Mikado already has my soul and my body; I'd like my life to go to someone honorable.  How's that, herbalist?  Enough about me to satisfy your curiosity?"  
    Tanda stared at him.  But Jin was looking at the empty soup bowl.  Tanda regretted pushing him.    
    "I'm sorry, Jin.  I didn't know."  
    "And I'm sure you wish you still didn't."  
    "No.  I'm... a little stunned, but I'm glad you told me."    
    "Why?  Because now you know you should never have invited me into your home?  Don't worry, Tanda-san, I'm not _completely_ evil.  You're safe."  
    Tanda was quiet.  He had known his young guest held a lot of bitterness, but until this moment he hadn't realised just how much.  What would it be like, to carry atrocities like that around with you, forever?  And so many, at only twenty-one?  What must Mon, the leader, be holding onto, who was more than twice Jin's age?  And what sort of emperor was Chagum's father to have ordered such things?  Somehow, Tanda had imagined the Imperial Hunters to be, essentially, elite soldiers with a special focus on espionage.  But this was something on an entirely different level.  This was calculated, systematized, precise, merciless violence.  And if the young man was to be trusted, it seemed it was all conducted merely to ensure the Mikado remained in power, unthreatened and unopposed.  
    "You cannot have chosen this life for yourself," he said.  
    "No indeed.  The huntership is much like a lord's title, passed on from father to son, but unlike a title, it cannot be turned down.  The choice is to either obey or be executed for treason and bring eternal disgrace upon your family, and leave some other unlucky relative to take up where you left off.  It is a curse bequeathed us by the great Emperor Torgal as a reward for our ancestors' having helped him found New Yogo.  It's a great honor to serve his wise, faultless descendants."  
    Tanda didn't know what to say.  For a long time both men were silent.    
    Finally Jin said softly, "I apologize, Tanda-san.  I spoke out of anger.  Please disregard everything I've just told you.  I am afraid I lose control of my temper all too easily.  I didn't mean to speak so-"  
    "-honestly?" Tanda interrupted.  
    The other's brow knitted and he looked at the floor.  "-indecorously," he said.  "Please forget this outburst ever happened."  
    "I can't do that," said the herbalist.  
    "Tanda-"  
    "I'm a healer by nature as well as profession," Tanda continued, ignoring him.  "When I see something broken, my instinct - my need - is to fix it.  I notice things, too, Jin.  I notice that you don't think yourself deserving of even the smallest kindness.  I notice that you're even more unhappy than Chagum.  Do you think so little of yourself?  Do you find no value or meaning in your life?"  
    Sullenly, "I don't know what you mean."  
    "I think that you do.  If you believe the only good that can come of your existence is by your death, even in the service of another, there's something wrong."  
    "I don't believe you understand, Tanda-san.  I do not help people.  I do one thing and one thing only.  Anything else is superfluous.  No one in a village mourns when a rabid dog is killed.  Such a thing is for the good of the villagers.  While the dog prowls the streets, the people suffer; without it, they can breathe free.  No one calls for a murderer to be pardoned if his guilt is known."  
    "Those are not the same."  
    "Are you sure?  Are you really sure, herbalist?"  
    "You don't only kill people, Jin.  For instance, you've been watching out for Chagum since-"  
    Jin interrupted, "If the Mikado were to order his highness' death tomorrow, I would have no choice but to obey."  
    "But you wouldn't.  You would protect him like Balsa did - help him escape to safety."  
    "And die in the process.  Which is, I believe, exactly what I said earlier and what you are trying to refute."  
    "You _can_ help people _without_ dying in the process.  Balsa-"  
    "-isn't a contract killer for the highest authority in the land.  She may have had a hard childhood, but she _chose_ to become a warrior, and Jiguro never forced her to kill.  She answers only to herself.  That's a luxury we Hunters will never know.  You cannot compare her to us."  
    Tanda sighed heavily.  He was determined to get through to this man somehow.  "What about your leader, Mon?" he tried.  "Do you think he, too, would do the most good by dying?"  
    "No-"  
    "Why not?  He's killed far more people than you, surely.  He's even more liable than you, too, because he's giving the rest of you the orders."  
    "He-"  But there the other stopped, looking frustrated.  "He helps all of us.  He takes care of us."  
    "The 'us' in that phrase being themselves cold-blooded murderers..."  
    "I don't know, Tanda, all right?  You win.  He's just as guilty as the rest of us, and my instinct is to deny it only because I personally have been helped by him.  My judgement is not objective."  
    "And I'm sure there are people you've helped, too, that you probably don't even know about.  Jin, in my line of work, I can't judge whether one patient deserves to live more than another, so I have come to believe that every life is valuable, no matter how despicable the person.  I happen to think, also, that you are not an evil man.  I don't think you're even particularly bad.  You've seen, and participated in, some horrific things.  But I do not believe that an evil deed makes a person evil.  And even if you were evil, your life would still be worth saving, because you could yet have a change of heart.  There is no knowing a person's future, just as there's no knowing their heart.  Perhaps you simply need to change your way of thinking about things.  The Mikado's work is not a purpose you subscribe to, so make your own purpose.  Perhaps you could offset the things you do for the Mikado by doing good during the rest of the time.  You've done so much for Chagum; you could certainly do good for other people as well.  You just need to figure out a place to start."  
    Jin stood.  "Thank you, Tanda-san, but I think it's best I left now.  I'll send payment; if you don't want it, give it to someone you think will."  He bowed and headed for the door.  Tanda waited, and after a few moments his patient returned down the short corridor with a look of frustration.  "The door is blocked with snow."  
    "Yes," said Tanda, "we're snowed in.  I believe I mentioned that."  
    For a moment the two looked at each other.  Tanda felt triumphant.  It was a bit childish, he could admit that; but he knew, and so did Jin, that Tanda had won the day.  The herbalist poured the remainder of the broth into the soup bowl and held it out to his guest.  "Finish this, please."


	4. Tanda's Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stalemate, endgame, very sappy conclusion.

The blizzard went on for the rest of the day, and it was two more days after that before the snow melted enough for Jin to leave.  Until then, Tanda kept him plied with broth, tea, and encouraging words.  That last of these three were met with by waves of unspoken resentment, but Tanda refused to let up.  He realised now that what he missed most, with Chagum and Balsa being gone, was that he had no one to care for but himself.  Now, with a damaged, neglected stray literally having shown up on his doorstep, there was no way the herbalist was going to let the hunter get past him untreated.  
    With more painstaking care and precision than it had taken to repair Jin's severed artery, and with a hell of a lot more difficulty, Tanda got out of him that he was the second of three boys, and that both brothers had died when he was a teenager, along with his father, his brother's wife, and his infant nephew; his mother had died in childbirth when he was ten.  Mon, the leader of the hunters, had taken on the training duties that Jin's father had not had time to complete, and because of that, Mon had become something of a second father to him.  For this reason the young man well understood Prince Chagum's attachment to Balsa.  "We all make families for ourselves however we can, don't we, herbalist?" Jin had said, with a joyless smile.  That remark stung, hitting its mark as surely as a throwing dart and digging in just as deeply; but Tanda pressed on, not to be deterred.  
    "I'm sure that you've done some good in your life besides for Chagum," Tanda suggested while he checked the soup-pot on the third night.  When this produced no response, Tanda said, "You know, Balsa didn't used to be how she is now.  She used to kill people all the time - always in defense of someone she was sworn to protect, and always bad men and in self-defense, but it still upset me.  We got into a terrible fight about it, and she left.  For two years she was gone, without any word at all.  I didn't even know if she was alive.  But when she returned, I discovered that my words had been taken to heart, and that she had forsworn killing forever."  
    "I see."  
    Tanda waited for him to say more, but the hunter pointedly ignored him.  
    "Well, I think you may end up doing the same," the herbalist continued after a moment.  "You're dismissive and resistant now, but perhaps you simply need time to think about what I'm saying before you come around."  
    Jin shrugged, not bothering to look up.  "That's one theory."  
    After another long, strained silence, Tanda frowned.  "There's really no need for you to be so unfriendly, Jin."  
    "It's just I'm wishing I'd never come here.  I should've just let myself bleed out-"  
    "Don't say that!" Tanda cried, starting, and the other shot him a flat glare.  
    "-and then I would've been spared all your sermons," he finished, ignoring the herbalist's outburst.  "Look, Tanda, I understand what you're trying to do.  You're not the first person to conclude I'm suicidal and try to intervene.  But I promise you, if I were going to kill myself, I'd have done it long ago.  I appreciate your concern, but it isn't needed."  
    "You misinterpret my motives.  I don't think you're suicidal.  But you obviously aren't getting what you want from life, and I think you'd benefit from taking my advice to heart.  Offsetting your crimes would go a long way towards easing your conscience.  I'm sure there are plenty of ways you could help people.  What are you good at?"  
    "Killing."  
    "Besides that."  
    Jin sat back and pondered this.  Tanda was heartened that his question provoked thought this time, rather than a rebuttal or stoic silence, as earlier.  _Progress_ , he thought.    
    "Problem-solving," the hunter said at last.  "Our leader has often asked my perspective on difficult cases, and he seems to consider my input valuable.  But detective work is already one of our duties, and cases necessitating it are few and far between."  
    "Detectives do more than solve murders," said Tanda.  "Perhaps-"  
    Jin held up his good hand.  "Tanda-san, please stop.  I know what you're getting at, and yes, I have plenty of useful skills, but I assure you, none of them translates readily to community service.  I promise that if an old woman asks me to use my analytical abilities to track down her lost cat, I'll help her, all right?  Again, I appreciate your efforts, but I just don't think it's going to work out.  It'll have to be enough that I can bring messages between you and the prince for now.  Maybe I can share your soup recipe with the other hunters, so that-"    
    Abruptly he sat up a little straighter, and his expression changed.  "In all seriousness, herbalist.  His highness speaks often of your cooking.  If you can write down a recipe for that soup you make all the time, I can get it to the servants that prepare the prince's meals, and they can ensure that Prince Chagum gets it.  I think that would make him very happy."  
    Tanda nodded.  "Of course.  That's a wonderful idea.  I'll write down as many of my recipes as I can.  Maybe that will ease some of Chagum's homesickness."  He grinned.  "See?  You just put those problem-solving skills to good use.  I told you so."  
    The hunter sniffed and said nothing.  
      
Tanda did as he promised.  He copied down some ten recipes, describing the ingredients in detail where he could not remember the non-Yaku name for them.  He hadn't much faith in the palace chefs' ability to duplicate any of it, but he at least had to give them the chance.  
   The next letter he received from Prince Chagum was ecstatic.  As predicted, the servants hadn't been able to reproduce Tanda's cooking completely, and the soup had been cold by the time the prince actually got to eat it, but it was close enough to the real thing that Chagum felt as if Tanda himself had delivered the food to his door, and the boy could not thank him enough.  He had no idea how Tanda had managed it, but it had come at a time when Chagum was feeling especially lonely, so the surprise had been especially welcome.  That vegetable soup reminded Chagum of the happiest time in his life; even this pale imitation of the taste was enough to bring him back to the hunting cave, and made him feel as if Tanda and Balsa were just in the next room, not miles away.  
    When Tanda asked Jin why he hadn't told Chagum that he was responsible for getting the soup recipe to the palace kitchens, the hunter shrugged and said it wasn't his place to tell the prince anything unless Chagum asked.  "In all honesty, Tanda-san, his highness probably couldn't tell me apart from any of the other palace guards.  And that's as it should be.  He's the son of heaven; why should he be bothered with the accomplishments of his servants?"  Jin spoke in absolute earnest: not only did he not mind that he hadn't gotten credit for helping alleviate the prince's unhappiness, he actually seemed to prefer it this way.  
    "It felt good to help, though, didn't it?" Tanda prodded.  
    At last the other gave a small, genuine smile, shedding years in an instant, for one brief moment transformed.  "The crown prince was so overjoyed when the servants brought that soup out to him that he actually shouted with delight.  I haven't seen him that happy since he was with Prince Sagum, may he rest in peace.  To witness that was more reward than I could ever have asked."  
    While he packed a small bundle of herbs for Shuga, Tanda said, conversationally, "You've been thinking about what I said.  About doing good deeds in your spare time."  
    "I think about a lot of things, herbalist."  Yet, however unreadable, Jin's face still held the faintest hint of a smile, and Tanda knew then that he had succeeded.  _Well_ , he thought, _who could have guessed?  So even a rabid dog can be won over with the right mix of patience, pushiness and kindness.  Apparently stray dogs have more in common with fighting cocks and tigers than I expected_.  It seemed that Tanda had learned more from Balsa over the years than he'd thought.  He felt a swell of gratitude towards her, wherever she was.  And hope, too.  As with Jin, and as with Balsa last time she'd left, the herbalist had already planted the seeds in the other's mind.  He had told Balsa what she needed to hear.  Six months ago he'd been in despair; but now he knew that Balsa was surely remembering what he had told her, ruminating on it, trying to ignore it and failing.  His words would put down roots; they would grow stronger; they would force their way through her stony, stubborn resistance; and, some day, they would bear fruit.  Then at last she would realise that he had been right all along, and then... then she would return to him.  If this conflicted young murderer could be convinced of his own positive agency in a mere month, Balsa's ultimate reconciliation with the idea of settling down must be inevitable.  The herbalist need only wait.  
    A great weight lifted from Tanda's heart.  Six months he had struggled under its load, and now, in an instant, it was gone.  
    At once he found himself beaming.  Somehow, in healing the hunter, he had managed to heal himself.


End file.
